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casualhedonists · 4 months

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✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter four)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, roughhousing, overstimulation, insane amounts of teasing, some mild dubcon scenes/allusions to dubcon, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 4/?

SERIES MASTERLIST

words: 6.3k (🫠)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

a/n: thank you for your patience while i got my shit together (christmas edition). enjoy, this filth seems to get longer with each chapter. i’ll be gone for a few weeks over the holidays, so no chapter updates for a bit, but have no doubt i’ll be back for more in the new year <;33

Coriolanus Snow was not a patient man. He’d played the long game enough times in his climb to the top of Panem to know that once he got up there, he wouldn’t be sitting on the sidelines anymore, waiting for life to happen to him. He would take what he wanted from whoever he wanted, with no delay.

Who were you to tell him what he could and couldn’t have? Who were you to deny him, walking away like you’d won, like you’d just played him like a fiddle and left him out in the dust? He replayed your self-satisfied smile as you disappeared from his view and he stood there, considering his options. The most tempting would be to follow you back to your room, to shove you up against a wall, to tear off his jacket and watch that smug look melt right off your face.

The second would’ve been to send for the whore, but it would’ve been a cheap thrill and besides, you’d made a point of getting rid of her.

He’d almost had you, he could see it. Could see the quiver in your lip as your blown-out eyes had rolled open, before you’d climbed off his lap. He was certain that if he chipped away at enough of your resolve, you’d give in. The thought of having to work for this incensed him, who were you to make demands from the President himself?

But the calculating part of his brain decided, with disdain, that he would have to be patient for once. He doubted you could go very long before giving into him; he’d seen it in your eyes, it had taken everything in you to leave him that night.

You wanted to go on a power trip? Fine. Snow knew it would be short lived, and you were making enough of a spectacle of yourself that it should prove entertaining to him. He decided he was going to let you have your fun, brief and fleeting as it may be. He always did enjoy a chase, and he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

You wanted to play? Fine.

He closed his door, leaving it unlocked.

Let the games begin.

Breakfast was a sweet kind of torture. You’d wrapped a short, silk dressing gown around your underwear set from the night before, confident after your first good night’s sleep in weeks. Headed downstairs early, so you could be there when he walked in.

“Morning, sweetie.” You smiled as you sipped at a cup of coffee.

Snow’s eyes narrowed. He sat opposite you without a word, pouring himself a cup and buttering a piece of toast. His morning paper was neatly folded on the side, and you eyed it quickly, before taking him in.

It was subtle – something probably only you could pick up on, knowing what you did – but it was there, in the slight crinkle of his usually perfect shirt, in the way he took coffee instead of tea, in the way he focused carefully on spreading the butter to every edge of his slice of toast. You glanced down again, a mischievous sense of pride filling you up.

You’d gotten under his skin.

Finally.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “I don’t know about you, but I slept like a log. You?”

His eyes met yours heatedly, but he didn’t reply. One of his footmen stood posted by the door, eyes straight ahead.

“No?” You faked pity. “You look a little tired, Coriolanus. Rough night?”

Nothing. He didn’t respond to your taunts, but instead took his paper, unfolding it, and you watched intently with a glint in your eye as you saw him react to something slipping out of the pages and into his lap.

He let out a surprised scoff, lowered the paper, and looked straight at you. Your eyebrows raised in response.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, with a lilt in your voice.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady.

“Leave us, please.” He said to the footman, without breaking off his stare once. The footman obliged, closing the door behind him. His eyes bored into you with a similar intensity as they had the night before.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He asked, but it was flat like a statement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You batted your eyes, feigning innocence.

He lifted his hand from his lap, holding up the pair of white lace panties you’d tucked between the folds of his newspaper. Raised his eyebrows in a question.

“Oh,” you smiled. “Whoops. I’d been wondering where I left those.”

His stare remained unfaltering, and you rubbed your legs together.

“Very cute, sweetheart.”

You smirked.

“You think so? Just something to remember me by. Lucille said you’ll be gone until tomorrow for work, I wouldn’t want you forgetting about last night.”

His eyes darkened, never leaving yours as you stood, making your way down the table.

“It’s a shame, really. I feel a little guilty about what I did. I got you all worked up for nothing.”

He scoffed, watching as you got closer.

“Yeah, you seem all torn up about it.”

You hummed, reaching him, and nodded at his lap, where his hand gripped the white lace.

“May I?”

“Be my guest.” He said tightly.

You straddled his lap again, and he looked up at you. You felt another surge of that power, standing over him with very little between you, as you ran your palms over his jacket, smoothing it out, then plucking the white rose from his breast pocket, and tucking your panties inside. As you pushed the rose back in, you smiled, satisfied.

“I should be more careful about misplacing things,” you mused, “Could’ve sworn I threw those in the laundry. You want to know something funny?”

“What?” Snow watched your hand pull away, and you met his gaze again.

“I’m not even sure I’m wearing a pair right now.”

It happened so quickly, it knocked the breath out of you. One second, you were balanced with your legs either side of his, and the next, you were pushed back onto the table as he stood, grabbing your waist, and leaning over you. A plate shattered on the floor, but Coriolanus didn’t flinch.

You squirmed but he gripped your hips harder, sliding one hand up to support your back and stop you from toppling straight onto the table. The cold wood pressed into your bare legs, and a glass dug into your back. You realised with a shaky breath that your dressing gown had fallen open. He was stood flush between your legs, pinning you down.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He snapped.

“I told you, didn’t I?” A hum as his hips rolled into yours. “Whatever I want.”

“I could force your hand, you know.” He commented. “Right now.”

“You think I wouldn’t want you to?”

His face was unreadable. His head dipped towards yours, and when he spoke it brushed against your lips.

“You really are a whore.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I know you’re all bark and no bite. You want to know why I know that, Snow?”

He huffed.

“Why?”

“Because I think you like chasing me.” Your eyes lowered to your legs, pressed apart by his hips. Your ankles wrapped around his lower back and pressed him in further. His jaw clenched.

He followed your gaze, and you felt his breath hitch when he saw that you weren’t lying, there was nothing between the two of you except his pants.

“Fuck.” He whispered.

It did something to you, hearing him so desperate. You pulled him in again with your heels, and he looked back at you. He rocked his hips, velvet cloth rubbing against your bare cunt, and you gasped at the feeling, still sore from last night.

Any time now.

“You want to fuck me, Snow?” You whispered. “Do it. Right now, I won’t stop you.”

His breaths were heavy as he rocked his hips again, firm, and it was obscene, really, how you could feel the outline of his cock pushing against you through the thick material, and his breath was getting laboured.

Almost there.

“Knew you’d give in.” His voice was rough as he pressed in harder, and you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, “So fucking desperate. Didn’t expect you to open your legs this soon, though. Thought you’d rile me up for a few days first. But look at you,” he rambled, “giving up so easily. Where’s all that fight now, sweetheart?”

A loud rap sounded at the door.

There it is.

You couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across your face as he stopped still.

“Oh,” you blinked innocently at him, “I wonder who that could be.”

“President Snow? We’re ready for you, sir.” The footman’s voice was muffled through the door.

“Well, would you look at the time? I guess duty calls, Mr President.”

He scowled, shooting ice cold daggers at you.

“You bitch. You knew.”

“And you fell for it.” You smirked, digging your heels into his back again. “Who’s desperate now?”

He scoffed, meeting your eye again.

“You think you’re so smart, little girl. You really think I’d mind if they walked in on me fucking you into the table?”

“I know you’re not against having an audience, Snow. But what are you gonna do, hang the health minister if he walks in? I know you’re not above it, but it’d be a slight inconvenience. Surely there are wiser ways to spend your precious time.”

“Yeah? Try me.”

His nails dug into your back as he pulled you in closer. For just a second, you had a doubt. But not long enough.

“I’m calling your bluff, Coriolanus Snow.”

He shook his head. Peeled himself off you with a huff, and tried to smooth out his shirt, glaring at you the whole time.

“I’ll be right out.” He called.

You slid off the table and stood, tying your gown, then reaching to fiddle with his collar. He batted your hand away.

“Let me.” You reached out again.

“Fine.”

Your hands smoothed over the material, straightening it out, then once you were satisfied, they rested on his chest for a beat.

“You look handsome.” You confessed quietly, not meeting his eye as you spoke. You could feel his stare burning into you as you did. When you finally looked, his expression had shifted to something unreadable again. Confusion, perhaps. It was times like these when you wished you could read his mind.

The moment finally passed and you cleared your throat, trailing a hand over his breast pocket, a physical reminder of the game you were intent on winning.

“This was fun.” You declared with a smile, putting the mask back on. “Hurry back. What time shall I expect you?”

“No later than noon.” He watched as you stepped away.

“I look forward to it,” you smiled, playing with the string of your gown, “sweetheart.”

With Snow out of the house, you jumped at the chance to head straight upstairs, making a beeline for his room. Something inside you just knew the door would be unlocked, that he wouldn’t be able to resist. You were right.

At last, you were able to take a good look around the room, touring it as if it was some art museum. And it wasn’t far from it; with wood panelled walls and strong beams on the ceiling, plush velvet throw pillows and bedsheets, with crisp white linen tucked underneath. You wandered around for a while, brushing your fingers over the sides, taking it all in. It was perfectly neat, almost jarringly so. You wondered if he always kept it like this, or if it was for your benefit. Since he’d probably guessed you’d be going inside, you took little guilt in peeking into a few drawers, and flipping through the pages of the book on his nightstand.

Your curiosity then took you into the bathroom, where, after scanning the shelves, you decided to undress and take a shower, steam and the smell of his soap filling the large room. You took the opportunity to slide your hands between your legs and replay the morning’s events, filling in what you’d have had liked to have happen instead of him leaving. When you were finished, you wrapped yourself in a soft towel, and walked out, spotting a glass bottle of cologne on the edge of the sink. With a smile, you gently sprayed a little on your wrist, breathing it in, sighing deeply as the smell of him went to your head.

You got dressed again, thumbing through his closet, basking in the buzz you had from being in his space. You sat on his bed, taking his room in from a new perspective. When you were satisfied, you headed back to your own with a smile, only coming back that evening with a handful of your things, before falling into a peaceful sleep under his sheets.

A few days passed after that morning, and you barely saw Snow. He’d come back, but gone straight to his office, where he proceeded to spend long hours on the phone, stuck on some important business you had no business nosing about.

So, you waited, your games paused and painfully anticlimactic. You hated feeling like a helpless housewife, but this was apparently what you’d been reduced to. You saw your friends some of the evenings, and your family on others. Then you’d come home to hover outside Snow’s locked study to listen to the sounds of pen on paper, peppered with the occasional sigh. You would have waited for him to come out, but you gave up as the hours drawing longer. He stayed holed up in his office, night after night, and by the time he’d finished the evening’s work, sleep had long carried you away.

It hadn’t all been dull; you’d fallen into a habit of sneaking pairs of your underwear in with the clean laundry that was carried up to his room, and that had earned you a little attention, but it was merely in passing. A few heated glances at the dinner table, a brush past each other in the hallway. You’d go so far as to say it was almost like flirting, only laced with the undertones of something far heavier. It wasn’t enough for you now that you’d tasted what you could have if only you reached for it, and you started to go a little stir crazy again.

One of these nights, you’d slipped into his empty room after dark, and lay in his bed, trying to stay awake as long as you could, but sleep caught up to you and by morning, you woke alone, wrapped in soft sheets, no sign of Snow except for a slightly warm dent on his side of the bed that had long been abandoned.

You got nothing. Not a touch, not an argument, not a kiss. For a week and a half, until he was called away again. Your annoyance had started to creep back up on you tenfold by then, and you were practically crawling out of your skin.

You saw your family for dinner more and more, making a habit out of filling the empty space he'd left with small talk and laughter. It was on one such night, when you'd been silently mulling over what move to make next, that your mother mentioned a name you hadn't heard in years, and you knew right away what to do. You were done hiding away, you wanted to make yourself known. Make every second Snow spent in your presence a living hell, and a reminder of what you’d denied him. You'd hoped for something outrageous, something that would push him to the very edge. And if this didn't work, nothing would.

Nathaniel Greene was an old flame of yours. He’d always been good to you, warm and well-meaning; and he was handsome, in a gentle, boyish way. When your mother mentioned him, a beautifully cruel idea struck you. You weren’t naturally as cold-hearted as Coriolanus, but as the weeks had gone by, you’d begun to believe that maybe, in order to win this, you needed to be. Nathaniel would be perfect; the two of you had been school friends, you had history, something Snow couldn’t compete with, and you knew that would drive him insane. He was all soft edges, smiles, and pleasantries, everything that Snow wasn’t.

You felt a sliver of guilt as you began putting your plan together, but you reasoned that you and Snow had bruised each other, and low blows were what it would take for you to press into his the hardest. This was always never going to be simple; it was a messy game, and you needed to get your hands dirty.

Besides, he’d paraded a whore around the house for you to watch him fucking for weeks on end. It was fair game, you reminded yourself. So with that decided, you rose to the occasion, and the plan was set into motion.

That was how it came to be that on the day Snow returned, he walked in to find a guest sat in his living room. You were all false smiles and batted eyelashes when you saw him.

“Coriolanus, you’re back. I’d like you to meet Nathaniel, he and I used to be friends at school.”

Nathaniel rose from his seat on the sofa, and leaned toward Snow to shake his hand.

“Mr President, sir, it’s an absolute honor to be in your company. You have a lovely house.”

Nathaniel missed the slight tick in Snow’s jaw, but you didn’t. He offered his hand in response.

“The pleasure’s mine. Any… friend of my girl is always welcome here.”

My girl. The words went straight to your head, and Coriolanus pulled you in for a kiss that lingered half a second longer than usual, like he knew.

“Would you like some tea, sweetheart?” You asked, “Nathaniel and I were just catching up.”

“I remember that summer.” You laughed. “Your aunt took us to the coast, and we swam in the ocean at least twice a day. It was so cold one morning, your cousin’s lips turned blue. And on the way home, we had to stop at that inn, do you remember it?”

“With the owner and his crazy beard.”

“The crazy beard owner!” you exclaimed. “And the room you and I stayed in was so laughably small, the bed touched three of the walls all at once. Cozy, though.”

Nathaniel glanced awkwardly between the two of you, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, those were, uh… good times.”

Fire ran rampant through Snow’s eyes. You didn’t look directly at him, but your peripherals gave you plenty of satisfaction.

He was enraged. Good. You’d been mercilessly torturing him for the better part of an hour.

“Oh, Nathaniel, that reminds me, I’ll go get the book I was telling you about earlier.”

“Book?” He frowned, “I don’t-”

“You know the one! I’ll be right back.” You interrupted, then practically bounced out of your seat and walked toward the library. At the far end of the large room, you paused, pretending earnestly to scan the spines for a particular title.

You were quiet, making sure you could hear the echo of Snow excusing himself, followed by steady footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Something wrong?” You asked, keeping your back turned.

He grabbed your waist and spun you around. Backed you up until you were pressed to the wall, wooden shelves digging into your spine.

“Give me one good reason,” he spat, “why I shouldn’t kill that boy right now.”

You blinked.

“What’s wrong, Snow? Can’t take a little jealousy? Surprising, given your recent choice of company.”

“So that’s it? All this to get a rise out of me? You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.” he scoffed.

You smiled, meeting his eye.

“Oh, but maybe I should. See, Coriolanus, here’s the thing.” you leaned towards him, running a finger down the front of his dress shirt, catching over each shining button as it glided down. “I haven’t decided if I should fuck him, yet. What do you think I should do?”

“I think,” he snarled, grabbing your wrists and pressing them against the wooden shelves, then dropping his voice down to a whisper, his breath mixing with yours, “that I should fuck you right here while he listens in the next room, and show him who you really belong to.”

You faltered, if only for a few moments. Your pride wavering as you heard the want drip from his voice, still getting used to his eyes skating across your skin the way you’d hoped and prayed they would for months. If you wanted it, you could take it right now, and you almost folded. He moved in ever closer, and your head dropped against the bookshelf, letting his lips graze your neck, blonde curls dusting your shoulder. You stayed there, suspended, letting it roll over you like water.

“What would your little friend in there think, if he could hear how much of a whore you really are? I wouldn’t even let you cover your mouth. I’d just hike up your slutty little dress and send you back out there with cum dripping down your thighs. How do you think he’d like you then?”

Your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes closed, pressing your legs together. Tried to rationalise the logic of throwing your plans to the wind and letting him stake his claim on you.

You considered it. Briefly.

But you were already in so deep, you had to see this through. Snow had fucked with you, then left you out to dry, and you had to make sure he would never do it again. So no, you wouldn’t be the one to fold. He would, on your terms. And now wasn’t the time, not yet.

So you collected yourself. Pulled away, batting your pretty eyes at him.

“Oh, but I’m having so much fun.”

“Don’t test me. You’ve proved your point.” he seethed, stepping closer, and one more inch and you might burst-

“Nathaniel’s waiting. I’ll see you at dinner, Coriolanus.”

With that, you slipped away, silently catching your breath.

You’d just finished dinner alone, no Snow in sight, and you were walking back towards the hallway when the doors swung open.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your hands were above your head as Snow pushed you into the dining room wall. This was starting to become a habit. A sly smile pulled at your lips.

“Stings, doesn’t it? Getting a taste of your own medicine.”

He got in close, rage burning hot in his eyes.

“What you did was different, and you know that."

"I don't know, Coriolanus, was it? I've just been so bored, lately. Idle hands, I suppose."

If looks could kill, you'd be a goner.

"That's your excuse? At least I had the decency to fuck a stranger. Tell me you didn’t-”

You laughed.

“You really think I’d do anything without making sure you watched? God, Snow, you don’t know me at all.”

He moved in closer.

“If you ever do that again, if you so much as look his way, I’ll have him whipped in the middle of the city. Or maybe I won’t bother. I’ll just have him hung, and I’ll make sure you’re there at the front of the crowd to watch him drop, knowing his blood is on your hands. Do you understand me?”

You set your jaw. Shrugged.

“Okay.”

He frowned. You took pride in the way you could see it, him trying desperately to figure you out.

“Okay?” He repeated.

“You heard me. You think I really care enough about him, that I’d invite him into the house just to make you jealous, then expect him to end up alive? How stupid do you think I am?”

You did care about Nathaniel, at least enough to not want him dead, but Snow couldn’t know that. Not for this to work.

“You’re bluffing.” But you could hear in his voice that he wasn’t sure.

“Am I? Your threats don’t phase me, Coriolanus. Do your worst, I don’t care anymore. What, did you think I’d try to talk you out of it? You think I’d beg?”

His bewilderment caused him to drop your wrists, and you took the chance to push yourself away from the wall.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But I won’t fold. I meant what I said that night. You want me to be yours, you want to own me? You have to earn it. My way. You’re not going to get anywhere trying to scare me into submission. It won’t work.”

Disbelief flashed across his face. You stood your ground, raising your head up high, leaning in.

“I don’t want to fight you, Coriolanus.” You confessed. “Your room. An hour. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Say what you wanted about Coriolanus Snow, but when you asked him to be on time, he obliged. You didn’t even need to hear his footsteps to know he’d come, which you’d grown finely attuned to by now, enough to hear them leave his office two rooms away and walk the short distance to his room, swinging open the door you’d left decidedly ajar.

And you made sure what he walked in on was a sight to behold; you, sprawled out on his bed in nothing but a white shirt of his, unbuttoned all the way down, falling to your sides. Your head pressed into his silk pillowcases, legs parted lazily as your hand rubbed slow circles on your clit beneath the red lace of your underwear. You could tell from the look on Snow’s face when you rolled your head to the side and looked at him that you’d had the desired effect, that you’d orchestrated this perfectly, because he couldn’t take his eyes off your hand, hips rocking into it, the visual made all the more lewd by the scrap of fabric hiding your movements, leaving his brain to fill in the blanks.

You slowed.

“Glad you could make it.” A small smile formed on your lips.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

“I have. Your bed’s a lot softer than mine.”

He hummed, crossing his arms.

“Why did you ask me here, sweetheart? This is my room, after all.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and even that small motion wasn’t lost on him. Your hand stilled.

“I waited for you.” You said quietly.

He let out a sigh, ragged and tired.

“I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. If you knew how badly I wanted to see you-”

“Don’t. I don’t want your apology.”

His expression gave way to confusion for a split second.

“Okay. What is it you want?”

You paused, gaze flitting between his eyes and his mouth. Then you swallowed, your voice an embrassing whisper.

“I want your mouth on me.” It almost hurt to hold his stare, but you did.

“That so?” was the response. You cleared your throat.

“You say you’re sorry, Snow? Prove it. I’m right here.”

He paused, like he was mulling you over. Like he was figuring out just how to play his cards. Then a small smile pulled at his lips.

“Take your hand away.” His voice was rough, and it gave him away.

You obliged, watching him step towards the bed, towards you. He rolled up his sleeves, eyes on yours and your stomach twisted.

There he is.

“If you’re going to be making demands, it’s only polite that you ask nicely. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You nodded, flushing under his stare.

“You want me to take these off?” He smoothed his hands up your thighs, thumbs hooking into the band of your panties. You'd missed feeling his hands on your skin.

You nodded again, and he tutted.

“Yes.” You corrected. “Please.”

“Good. It was about time you learned some manners.” He slowly slid them off, and you lifted your hips to help him. His gaze slid between your legs, and you shifted your knee so you were covered.

“Not getting shy now, are you? Open your legs for me.” He instructed, and you obliged, burning under the heat of his gaze as he unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off before moving in towards you, kneeling on the ottoman. You were already soaked, and you could feel the heat building even more, just from having him near you, having him see what a dripping mess you were.

“Shit.” It was no louder than a whisper, but your perked ears caught it and you pressed your lips together.

He tentatively pushed his thumb through your folds and you whined, a look on his face like he couldn’t quite believe what he was looking at. Did it again, and it caught on your clit, your breath hitching in your throat.

“Please.”

“Good girl. You know how many times I’ve thought about this over the past week? I’ve lost sleep over it.”

“Coriolanus.”

He smoothed his hands over your thighs again, and you yelped as he suddenly pulled you forward, hooking your legs over his shoulders. He kept staring, and you couldn’t take it, blood rushing from your head, so you dropped it back onto the pillows.

“Look at me.” He squeezed your thigh.

You did. You felt a sliver of pride as you noted the slight flush in his cheeks, like maybe he was more worked up than he was letting on.

“You know how many times I came all over those pretty panties of yours, wishing you were wearing them? Think I lost count.”

You couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped you as his breath brushed over your folds, wound so tight you thought you would burst.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Say it again.”

“I want your mouth on me. Please, put your mouth on me.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice, because with a sharp inhale, he pressed his mouth onto your cunt and dragged his tongue over your clit, slowly, firm and deliberate, like he had an itemised list of exactly how to cause your undoing. You gasped at the sudden contact, and your hips bucked off the bed, before his fingers gripped into your hips the way they had the other night, and slammed you back down.

“So fucking needy. Were you really that worked up? Parading your little boy toy around will do that, huh?”

“I’m sorry.” You gasped, as he worked his tongue over your clit again, tracing slow, firm circles that made your legs weak. You grabbed a handful of his hair, blonde locks twisted between your fingers as he pulled away again. You whined.

“See, that’s the thing. I don’t think you are. But you will be.”

You didn’t have time to wonder what that meant, because his tongue was all over you again, lapping at your entrance, lips sucking loudly at your clit as you moaned, free hand twisting creases into his bedsheets.

“Fuck.” You keened as your hips bucked harder, searching for friction that was so close to being enough. Your heels pressed into his back and your hand tightened in his hair, to which he retaliated by digging his nails into your thighs, scraping against the almost-healed bruises that were left from the previous week. The pinch brought you further into that headspace, where you could feel yourself slipping away, crying out as you thrashed under the pressure of his tongue on your cunt.

You kept rocking your hips, hopelessly trying to grind against him, but his hands held you down firmly, keeping the pace torturously slow. You couldn’t help your spaced-out brain from slipping back to weeks ago, when you’d watched him do the same to his whore on this very bed, and you made a sound of protest that just melted in with the rest of your noises, going unnoticed.

You didn’t want to feel this way, to feel disposable, like he could just have his way with you and throw you out. You knew that if you didn’t do something, you’d lose yourself altogether. And you couldn’t bear that thought, of having to give in. Not like this. Not when he held all the cards again.

“I want to sit on your face.” You breathed without thinking, strung out and desperate. Coriolanus pulled back. A smirk on his lips, which were swollen red and covered in your slick. You whimpered as the soft light caught him, showing you the mess you’d made of his face, dripping down his chin.

“Do you now?”

“Please. I’ll ask nicely, I’ll – I’ll beg, if you want me to. Just please, let me sit on your face. I can’t take it anymore, I’m so-” You broke off, gasping as he pressed a soft kiss onto your clit, causing your legs to jolt.

“Poor thing. You really want it, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please, I’ll do anything. Just… please.”

“Good girl.” He murmured, trailing soft kisses down your thigh. “Since you’ve asked so nicely, I’ll let you. Just for a few minutes, okay? Think you can cum that fast?”

“Fuck, yes. Thank you.”

A messy tangle of limbs as he pulled his shirt off, sliding flat onto the bed, hands guiding your shaking legs as you inched over his torso. It was nearly too much, watching his pretty face as you lowered yourself onto him, but you couldn’t look away, hands grabbing the headboard to steady yourself. You couldn’t help but think back to that night, riding his thigh like you were being paid for it. As he carefully eased your hips down, thighs either side of his face, you knew this was going to be a hundred times better than that. And Snow didn’t disappoint, lifting his head to nuzzle your clit as you sucked in a breath, hips jolting forward. You dropped a hand to grab onto his hair, and he didn’t retaliate this time, letting you wind your fingers around his curls as you started to move slowly, rocking your hips against his mouth.

This was much better. The angle was perfect, pressure everywhere you needed it, and you tipped your head back as you moved, one languid lick causing it to drop forward again to look at Snow.

The only time he really moved was to pull you in firmer, and the motion reminded you of how he’d pulled you into his thigh, and before you knew it the ache in your stomach was growing into a throb, burning you up until it felt molten, until you felt drunk from it. The coil tightened further as you got into it, rolling your hips, tugging Snow’s hair to the point where you were sure it must’ve been hurting him, but he either didn’t care or just didn’t stop you. As your hips bucked faster and you looked down at his face, eyes hazy as he ate you out like he was starved, you couldn’t help it, you just started talking, rambling near nonsense and it wouldn’t stop.

“Fuck, that’s it, right there. You’re gonna make me cum all over your face if you keep that up. Holy shit.” Your grip in his hair tightened, so hard it was pulling his head back so you could grind against him just right, clit catching on his nose, cunt spasming against his tongue, and he winced, a broken sound escaping the back of his throat, but it only egged you on. Your voice breathy but taunting, getting cockier by the second.

“Does that hurt, baby? Am I pulling too hard?” His eyes narrowed, but his tongue only fucked into you harder. “You can take it though, can’t you? Fuck. You’re being so good for me, letting me fuck your face like this. Feels so fucking good. Shit, I thought you’d take more convincing, but look at you, eating from the palm of my hand.”

His hands gripped into your hips again, nails digging crescent moons into your skin, and you tightened your thighs around his head which only made him dig harder, the pain tipping you over the edge as you shouted out, hips jerking as your thighs shook, and Snow only pressed in firmer with his tongue as you came, riding out your high with a strangled sob.

He didn’t give you chance to come down from your orgasm, instead pushing you off his face and flipping you over. You landed on your back, scared for a second that you’d be punished for getting carried away, but his lips met yours in a sudden battle for dominance. You moaned into his mouth as you tasted yourself on his tongue. He’d never kissed you like this before. It lit another fire in your stomach, just when you thought you were done.

After what felt like a lifetime getting drunk off each other, he pulled away, and you got to see the mess you’d made of this man. There he was, propped above you, the most powerful man in the country, blonde hair a sweaty wreck of tangles, parted lips sore and swollen, your cum smeared across his mouth and chin, mixed with the trail of your wet tongue in the places you’d just cleaned him up.

You tasted it on your lips, heard it in his laboured breath, saw it in his blown-out eyes, felt it in the small space between you.

This was what power felt like.

He was shaking his head incredulously, like he couldn’t quite believe you. Then, ignoring your hiss, his head dipped between your legs again, smooth tongue rolling over you like cool water on a burn. You flinched, a broken sound slipping from your lips.

“Oh, come on. You can give me one more, right?”

Fuck.

“Coriolanus, I can’t-” You whined as his hot breath lit you up, long fingers sliding inside you.

“You will. Come on, baby. You can take my fingers, can’t you?” His voice mimicked yours as he opened you up, speeding up a little. You hummed as he pressed against your sweet spot, and you hated how it seemed like it was so easy to him, to take you apart like this.

“Good girl. Look at me.” He scolded, when your eyes rolled back, squirming from the overstimulation, pressing his thumb against your clit just to watch you jolt.

“You’re going to do something for me. You’re going to promise me you won’t ever see him again.”

“What? Who, Nathaniel? I-”

He pressed into your clit again, mean, and you squeaked.

“Don’t say his fucking name. Promise me, right now. Say it.”

“I promise. Never again. I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry.” You sobbed.

“Good girl.” He smiled.

“Don’t want anyone else, just you, please. Please, Coriolanus. Will you promise me too?” Your words were airy, and your voice shook.

He slowed his fingers, and shifted himself up to place his lips on yours.

“I promise, sweetheart. It’ll just be us.” His fingers pressed into you harder, scissoring lazily, but every movement lit all your nerve endings on fire. You were so wet it was almost humiliating, or it would be if you weren’t so turned on, obscene sounds bouncing off the walls as he worked you open. Coriolanus could tell, smiling as he whispered praises, sweet nothings into your ear and added a third finger, thumb brushing across your clit as the sensitivity quickly morphed into more pleasure.

“You close again, baby?”

You only whimpered in response, head jerking as your eyes squeezed close, arm sliding down to grab his wrist, pushing it further. You were wrecked, and he knew it. It was his doing.

“Ah.” He knocked your hand away with a knowing smile. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’m listening.”

You paused, at a mental crossroads, but as he twisted his fingers just right, pressing deeper, you dropped all your inhibitions. Squeezed your eyes closed, cunt gripping his fingers, and confessed.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whispered.

You knew full well what it meant. You didn’t care anymore; you’d had your fun, and you were ready to fold. Lay all your cards out on the table. This ache inside you had never felt so loud. You refused to open your eyes, which were threatening to fill with desperate tears.

“Ask nicely.” He pulled his fingers back, dragging them along your sweet spot. You were starting to lose feeling in your legs.

“Please. Please, fuck me. I’m done, now, I promise. I won’t do it again, Coriolanus, I’m so sorry-”

“Say it again. One more time. Look at me.”

You sighed, eyes flooding with hot tears. You finally opened them.

“Please, Coriolanus. Fuck me.”

He smiled, but as quickly as it arrived, it morphed into something sinister.

“No.”

His hand stopped, fingers slipping out of you before you could stop them. Your high started to slip away. You rocked your hips, confused out of your mind. Driven to your edge, and then in the same breath, catapulting to a stop.

“I- wait, no… what?” You sounded delirious.

He shrugged, casually lifting his fingers, sucking them off with a pop.

“I don’t think I will. You’ve done quite enough, and I’ve had a long day. So I think you should be on your way now.”

You gaped, dumbfounded. The tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you held them in like they were your last shred of pride.

“But… you said we wouldn’t… I thought-”

He traced a hand across your check, gently, and it took everything in you not to sob.

“I meant what I said. But I’m not quite ready to forgive and forget. You should go and get some sleep.”

“Coriolanus, I- please.” You begged him, eyes wild and desperate.

“Stings, doesn’t it?” He raised his eyebrows and something inside you sank like a heavy cruiser. “A taste of your own medicine.”

a/n: sorry mom

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904 @pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @snowlandstop @badbleep88

(more tags in the reblog/comments)

if you’d like to be tagged, pls comment on the series masterlist (helps me keep track of everyone!!) 💌

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #snow x reader #snow x you #tom blyth #tom blyth x you #tom blyth x reader #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #attention #x reader #x you smut

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jointherebellion215 · 2 months

Text

If It's True

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When an unexpected guest crashes your House's welcome feast for the Harkonnens, your life unknowingly becomes the start of a sad, sad song.

Word Count: 872

TW: Manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha (so Regular Feyd-Rautha), she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, songfic

A/N: Hi, it's your friendly neighborhood shitposter. I'm taking a huge leap of faith with this fic, because I truly haven't written anything in YEARS. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for days, thus "the trilogy was born". This is meant to be Part One of a three part series, based on different songs from the musical Hadestown. I've obviously written this with very very dark interpretations of the songs and the themes. If enough people like it, I'll post parts two and three. Please let me know if it's any good, I'd love some feedback :)

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories other than what I derive inspiration from are strictly coincidence.

What’s the use of his backbone

If he never stands upright?

“We welcome you to Kolhar, my lords Baron and na-Baron. Our House humbly offers our services and facilities to your use. I toast to our continued cooperation and to the strength of our Houses.”

As your father raised his cup, others of our House followed suit. The official welcome feast was well underway, though House Harkonnen had been planetside for at least a week already. The past few days had been for inspecting our mines and factories, ensuring that our production of their ships and swords were up to standard.

Now? Pure pageantry. You found it a bit redundant, but it was necessary to ensure your good standing among the Houses of the Imperium. It was a grand occasion, in which the leaders of your father’s council were present, as well as the highest ranked mine workers.

The doors to the large hall slam open, a familiar figure storming in. Your heart flutters at the sight of your beloved parting the crowds before him. The man who you had met by complete coincidence, one of the workers in a local steel mine, who you had spent the better part of a year meeting in secret—had crashed the court. You noticed a bruise growing on his cheek and blood trickling down his temple, indicating that his journey to enter through the doors was easier said than done. His voice soon bellowed throughout the hall.

“My Lord Duke, I refuse to let your daughter’s hand be taken by the na-Baron. She cannot marry him.”

The crowd gasps, as do you. You had spent the past week showing the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha around the grounds, the training of your most fierce warriors, and the best of your planet’s culture. You had shared a laugh or two and shown your prowess as a leader. Yes, you’d spent quite a bit of time with him, but marriage? This was news to you.

You turn to your father, who gives you an apologetic grimace. Several Harkonnen guards step forward to seize the love of your life. You quickly stand to protest, but the na-Baron stops the guards in their track with a single snap of his fingers. He offers a hand to calm the crowd, an eerie stillness in his form.

“It is true, I have offered my hand to the Lady.”

I believe that with each other,

we are stronger than we know.

“There must be a way around this. Even if this is in defiance of the court, they can’t punish all of us! We work their mines; they couldn’t truly function without us. We are the ones who truly hold the power! I implore you to stand with me, show them our strength!”

Your love stands strong, chin raised in the crowd, voice pleading with his brothers and sisters to stand beside him. He was convinced that this moment could provide a great revelation, that somehow your situation was different. That the consensus of a crowd could make the na-Baron stand down. Surely, your story could convince even the coldest of hearts that love can conquer all. He must have some sentimentality that resonates within him.

That's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. He's always so full of hope. Always willing to see the world as it could be, in spite of the way that it actually is.

But you knew better.

“This is treason.” Someone whispers in the room. Murmurs of assent soon follow, and your heart drops. The crowd around him quickly dissipates, as if the mere act of touching him promises death.

And the ones who deal the cards

Are the ones who take the tricks

With their hands over their hearts

While we play the game they fix

You start to plead with your father to spare your lover. He doesn’t know any better, he wasn’t raised in the ways of politics or court. It’s purely out of his love and devotion to you, so please—

Feyd-Rautha stands up and the room is immediately devoid of sound. He cranes his neck to look at you.

“You love him?”

You swallow harshly, lifting your chin. “I do.” You went to your lover, making a bold statement in linking your fingers together. Presenting a united front. Hoping that somehow, your kind attitude the past week towards the na-Baron would allow this leniency.

A gleam flashes through his eyes, almost imperceptible. He gives a blackened smile, making show of placing his hand over his heart. Confusion fills you. He slithers down the steps towards the pair of you, boots echoing in the Feasting Hall, each step making your lover’s hand give a slight tremor. Your mind stands strong in its conviction, in the thought that you’ll have to fight for what you want. But a small tendril in the back of your mind gives the slightest hesitation. The smallest indication of hope. Maybe…

Piter leans towards his Baron, whispering concerns in his ears, but is quickly paused by the Baron’s hand. Vladimir gives a slow, menacing grin. He responds to his Mentat in a low voice,

“Don’t bother. You know that my nephew loves to play with his food.”

Is this how the world is?

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ghouljams · 4 months

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Voraciously consuming cowboy!König because I missed how you write this nasty (affectionate) man. The little surprises you leave in your tags too is 👍

König's gotten softer since you started dating. Not in the way he acts or treats you, no he's always treated you with shocking gentleness ever since he met you, but the rest of him. The hard planes of muscle that you were pulled against when you first met him have developed a healthy layer of softness. He's sturdier, thicker around the middle, and you can't stop staring.

He's well fed, you think over breakfast. You sip your coffee watching König eat his plate, a big mam with a big appetite. He hardly seems to notice that his plate is full of all the eggs, bacon, and toast you could fit in the pan. He only flips through the morning paper and eyes you over the top edge of it when you've been staring too long. One of his brows raises, silently asking you what's on your mind. You shake your head, unable to find the right words for the feeling he gives you.

You think you're... satisfied, maybe. Something primitive in you purrs at seeing him well fed, well taken care of. You think he looks stronger in a way. It certainly fits his height well, making König into a mountain of a man. You can't help imagining him with a gaggle of kids hanging off his arms and over his shoulders when you watch him around the farm. He picks up Honey's massive foal when it chases after him, moves it out of the way so he can load the stall with fresh hay; he drives a new fence post into the ground with one powerful swing of the hammer.

You might make a little extra food when he swings by for dinner later. Just because you had an extra loaf of bread and your garden has been exceptionally fruitful lately. It just sort of slips out when he sits down with a full plate; he's barely got his fork to his mouth.

"Have you ever thought about kids?" You ask, watching him a little dreamy eyed when he chokes on his bite. König thumps a big hand against his chest and downs half his glass of water. He settles the glass down on the table and gives you a hard look, like he's trying to figure what you're asking, you smile at him innocently.

König is quiet for a long time, arms crossed as he leans back in his chair to regard you. You're almost worried that you said something wrong, asked the wrong question, but then he sighs and drags his hand over his mouth to look around the kitchen. His eyes are hot and hard when they meet yours again.

"I think about our children all the time," he tells you, purposefully, like there's no room for argument. 'Our children' not just a simple yes.

"Our children," you parrot. König sits forward to start eating again.

"At least three of them," he nods, "better chances for a boy and a girl." You open your mouth to say something, but all you can think about is, well, your future children. At least three of them staring up at you with König's icy blues.

"You don't want to know why I'm asking?" You try to tamp down the flutter in your heart. König hums, and glances at you, his eyes dragging over the parts of you that he can see.

"You've been feeding me more, staring more, I assume you're nesting," again he says it like a fact, "thinking about them too, ja?" You forget sometimes how closely watched you are, and how much you like that about König. "We can start trying after dinner."

You try not to squirm too excitedly in your seat.

#ghoul speaks #cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #könig fanfiction #könig #könig x reader #könig x oc #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #oc: bee #cowboy!könig #cowboy au

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puranami · 6 months

Text

✿ It's The Little Things - 4 ✿

A/N: I wish I knew how to write for Katakuri because he'd be right at home in this big boi edition ksdjh Rosi makes me cry ilhsm (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Summary: Little relationship things with a couple big bads, and Rosi who has never done anything wrong in his life and doesn't die, bc i said so ✿

Characters: Crocodile, Rosinante (Corazon), Doflamingo

Content: SFW, G/N reader (though Croc calls you doll... but I think he'd do that regardless,) fluff on toast ✿

(Part 1 - Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji) (Part 2 - Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk) (Part 3 - Franky, Robin, Law, Kid, Killer)

Crocodile

✿ It goes without saying, being with Crocodile means you are surrounded by luxury; he is a very materialistic man with a very specific image he has cultivated, and that extends to you. All your clothes, jewellery, any makeup, even down to your perfume and shampoo are carefully considered to make sure you compliment him perfectly. He is particular, but not unreasonable, giving you options so you can make your own decision, and he will not force something on you that you hate - can't have you walking around sulking. Really though, he values your opinion, he just sets the parameters and you chose how to meet them. In fact, if you simply went along with everything he said, giving no input of your own; he'd get very bored, very quickly.

✿ When you aren't in public, basically acting as the power couple of Alabasta (before that goes awry,) and then of the Cross Guild; he allows himself to be much softer, and generally just more human with you. Work will always be his priority, but he's not against sleeping in and having a lazy day, or part day, depending on what's going on in your lives. He'll hug you randomly, catch you in his hook if he wants your attention, and just generally manhandle you, but in the gentlest way. Crocodile also enjoys cooking with you, and is not above throwing ingredients, or flicking water at you, especially if you start it, and he will throw a tea towel in your face if he wants to. It's very endearing seeing such a powerful, and feared man being a little silly, and it's only for you.

✿ His sense of humour is as dry as he is, and either you get it and laugh along, which is nice, or you find it so painful that you can't help but groan, him laughing at your suffering instead, which is even nicer. Crocodile's laugh is basically a low rumble that you can feel reverberating in his chest, which is the nicest part of all. He always drops jokes unexpectedly, in a way where you think he's just going to comment on something, or maybe flirt with you; "You know what makes me smile, doll?" - "Could it be the fact you get to spend a quiet, relaxing day with me, hmm?" - "Facial muscles." It's either the funniest thing, or you will genuinely want to throttle him. He doesn't hold it against you if you slap him over it, the impact barely registers with this living sandbag, and he takes it as a sign that the joke was a particularly good one (in his opinion.)

Rosinante (Corazon)

✿ An absolute sweetheart, and a gentle giant. He treats you like spun glass, at least to begin with, afraid he will hurt you with either his general size and strength, or his clumsy nature. It will take time for him to relax into things, but he will; humans are naturally rather resilient, and him giving you a strong hug, or falling over himself onto you is not going to break you. It still won't stop him crying over it, especially if you end up with any bruises, but you'll hold him gently as you stroke his head, soothing him while you explain that it's alright, and that these things happen; "I got a bigger bruise from accidentally kneeing the table the other day. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last either. Everything is okay, I promise." Poor guy just loves you so much, he can't stand the thought of you being hurt in any way!

✿ He absolutely adores it when you snuggle up beside him, under his massive coat. It feels like the safest place in the world, and it's so warm - nothing bad can happen under this fortress of feathers! Rosi in general is just a cuddly guy really, holding you at every opportunity, taking your relatively small hands in his giant ones, carrying you whenever and wherever you'll allow him to; always by his chest though, so when he inevitably slips, he doesn't land on you. Being your resident tall, he prefers to pick you up to reach things as opposed to grabbing those things for you, as it means he can hug you at the same time!

✿ Rosinante is absolutely ride or die with you! Whatever your dreams and ambitions, he will do everything in his power to try and help you achieve them. The only caveat is that he will also do the same for his own mission, and sometimes that overtakes him, and he will unknowingly, and definitely unwillingly overlook you at times. He keeps you completely separate from that part of his life - because it's so dangerous, and he never wants to put you in harms way. It can be lonely when he's so focused, or not around, and that's what spurs him to attach himself to you whenever he can.

Doflamingo

✿ The fact you managed to catch his attention at all is honestly a feat in itself. He's a man who has everything (until he goes to jail,) and he always gets what he wants, no matter how he has to go about it - so there must be something that he cannot buy, threaten, or manipulate out of you, or anyone else. There is something about you personally, a fearless spirit, the right kind of sass, the patient and forgiving nature of a god, just something more; you're like a unique treasure, one that he refuses to allow in the public eye, as he is a very selfish man. He basically puts you on a pedestal, catering to every little whim or desire. At least to a point. He won't prioritise you over his machinations, and he can't be soft and tender with you on command. He'll have is moments sure, but they're on his time, and only when you are alone.

✿ He loves to loom over you, manhandle you, generally just manipulate your body, all to remind you just how small and delicate you are. The man is a predator, let's be real, and you will never forget that while you are his favourite, you are still prey in his eyes. While he likes the look of you being the small, timid thing he expects from prey, he adores your looks of defiance, refusing to cower before him. It's part of what proves that you are above everyone else, excluding himself of course, and that you are worthy of his attention. You can sass him, and tell him "No," so long as you do what he says where it matters. He won't tolerate blatant disrespect and insubordination, that's a one way ticket 6ft under. Your relationship is a delicate balance of accepting your place beneath him, but not being so beneath him that you may as well not exist.

✿ In those longed for times when it's just the two of you, he will give you whatever affection you desire, even if it's not something he can really reciprocate. He likes you happy, and his pride means he will not accept that there is something he cannot get or do for you. That's not to say he doesn't love you, he does in his own way; he's just buried that part of him deep down, so deep it may never be found. Perhaps, as time goes on however, with you being a consistent presence in his life, showing him what genuine kindness and compassion are, he may remember somewhat and be able to offer it back to you. Don't hold your breath, though, if it's happening, it's not happening fast. He's certainly a convincing actor, and his mimicked affections feel real enough.

#one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x you #sir crocodile #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #donquixote doflamingo #crocodile x reader #crocodile x you #rosinante x reader #corazon x reader #rosinante x you #corazon x you #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you

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ladybirdswritings · 4 months

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Bound - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel O’Hara was never known to be a man wanting. He was beyond content with the power surging through him upon his multiversal throne. That is until he lays his hungry eyes upon you. Now, he will do whatever it takes just for the taste of you… dark!miguel x reader fic. very steamy as always <3

Notes: I couldn’t stop myself from this hades and persephone-esque fic so I hope you enjoy!! SW&P is far lighter if you desire that <3

next chap

one

Morning is a sweet greeting to you, warm and incandescent to shine it’s rays upon soft skin. As it always is. Though you find it to be dreary on days like this, as it is the same as the day prior, and the day prior to that day. As if it is not sparkling gold but shadowing gray.

All the same repetitive waltz for you.

Yet to your unknowing mind, much would change within the quick hour. Change not in the way of little things but rather in the way that would make your toes curl and your eager hands grab your tresses so you might not trip upon them on your dash toward the tallest hills.

You would have run had you known what was to come.

Yet you didn’t; and so? Your morning was quite a bore.

Similar to a zombie are your sunken cheeks and coffee kissed eyes decorated with awful bags. Your toothbrush is made of oak as is your boar-bristled comb. You tend to your prettying before slipping away from the hustle and bustle of a lively home. Four sisters and two brothers you sport, and an overbearing woman you dare to call your mother.

You made routine of this. Sneaking away with the latest print picked up from the small shop next to the apothecary in town. Out the oak wood door and past the burnt toast and meat to cuddle yourself comfortably against your favored weeping willow by the bend.

Your only company is the ducklings these days, though you don’t mind them much. They are mostly quiet beyond the occasional quack.

Serenity became you as you lay there in the remnants of springtime’s shadow, willfully sprouted in peonies and lilac blossoms.

Your print is a work of Austen, an old and worn thing but one you’d found comfort in recently. It would be your fourth time revisiting.

Would… however.

“Oh heavens sakes! You must enjoy making your mother walk upon tousled soil, girl! Have you got half a mind!? I don’t presume so otherwise you’d avoid any possibility of me losing a leg!”

A whine like that of a carnaged cat rings out from behind the bend. In the grassy plains your mother struggles her way toward you. You stand to your feet in swift motion, but your wandering eye finds curiosity in an unfamiliar bloom. Its colors an odd pairing of red and blue unfurled toward the sun.

What an odd thing, you think.

The huffing and puffing snaps your attention center, and you nearly grumble in complaint as you hurry toward your mother.

“Mama I was just—”

“Oh save it. I see you slip out each morning, I know full well your disdain for the company of your own family… but I didn’t come here to admonish you, sweet girl. Quite the opposite in fact. I am here to ask a favor of you. It seems the cold air has made our chickens most unwilling to provide us with eggs. Won’t you go in town and gather some?”

Like the rainfall’s mist caught by breath of wind, your hopes and plans of reading in the bend till dawn have dissipated. Pursing your lips, you nod— not wanting to administer a guaranteed headache at wake of your protest.

In to town you’ll venture.

✧*̥˚ … *̥˚✧

The cobblestone is cracked underneath your boot, as it is dampened by springtime’s departured mist. You like the clicking sound, though it is most lonesome at this ungodly hour.

The house cannot be run well with lack of your aid. Father left long ago and mother is just a dreadful housewife. The doctor blames her dissonance on the ailments within her mind’s confines though— she swears herself always to be whole and well.

Regardless, for the sake of your sisters— you help. Besides this, you owe it to her.

Your basket is made of weaved wicker and adorned with crimson cloth, at the end of the cobble is where life shines proud. A more lively gathering of townsfolk in search of early morning eggs to enjoy with their breakfast.

A single carriage, outdated as the things are, surges forward in an unstable command by a young man. He cannot be past twenty three, and his face is speckled with pale freckles. His hair is a burnt orange rasp.

The stallions are dark as midnight, sweat being huffed like chimney smoke from their nostrils. Dear god, the way he commands them is certain to ensure an accident.

You tuck the thought away in to the back of your mind to be focused upon your task. You’ll need no more than a dozen or perhaps three what with the vacuum cleaner your eldest brother refers to as his mouth.

Babblebrooke, it is where you’ve lived most your orphaned life. Surely some places have technology of picture books and magazines you skim through when you are awarded the rare chance but— you find yourself content with a place so simple.

You cannot imagine a life of loudness, no quiet space to tuck away and read. It’s a frightening thought.

The stand is nearby, only a few more passing steps and you’ll reach it. Your eyes are locked on the fresh berries, but you know full well you won’t have enough for them.

A bark startles you out of your trance, one excited and pointed. You jump at the sound and turn your head to find a cocker spaniel hound circling round and round to chase its own tail. You giggle at the sight, and its chestnut ears raise in alarm at the vibration.

Oh, it’s noticed you.

The little thing hobbles over excitedly, and you cannot help but bend on your knee to brush back its silken locks.

Beyond a canvas collar of pale pink lays a heart, engraved in molten silver the title: “Lyla.”

So she belongs to someone. Such a kind thing, they are to be a lucky companion indeed.

You smooth back the hair from her excited eyes before lifting to your feet again and continuing forward. She begins to follow you, but a movement in the alleyway shadows is a matter she finds far more pressing for her attention.

“Lyla…” you test in a whisper as you make your way behind a man hunched and gray— awaiting his eggs for breakfast.

Time seems agonizing and the line moves awfully slow, you peek behind the elder man to find annoyance laced in the eyes of the townsfolk. Blaire has taken a liking to the farm boy— it seems she’s busying herself with conversing nonsense with his mother rather than picking her fresh fruits for tart pastries.

You sigh, checking the time on your cracked, golden watch with impatience brewing at the soles of your boots. You sway on them, shifting your weight forward and back. No use just staring ahead.

Though it is quite loud, it doesn’t stop you from reaching in to your tote for “Jane Eyre.”

You find your favorite part, their first midnight meeting in the hallway. How romantic it is, you only wish that to be a possibility for you one day. You forbid yourself from joining the season of course but somewhere tucked away inside— you wonder how marvelous it would be for a broody and handsome thing to appear upon your doorstep with a bouquet the size of France.

You grin at the thought. Though it is swiftly interrupted by the quick patter of familiar paws.

“Woah! Easy!”

Your head snaps up at the gasps of those around you, and you are most horrified to see that the horses have reached the steep bend mere steps away. The ginger fool, they halt in warning and he kicks at them— slapping them with a russet pole. They comply, and the carriage loses control.

It creaks, hurling forward and disconnecting from its rusted shell. Tumbling at godspeed down the cobble and straight for little Lyla who lays mindlessly and happily on her back now.

Panic surges, and your eyes find worry in everyone’s features and yet no motive to act alongside it. Such cowardly men, allowing the poor thing to succumb to the bite of freak nature and cruel fate.

You won’t allow it. Though you feel frozen, the sharp and desperate shout of “Lyla!” from a phantom voice is enough to snap you back into the most horrible moment present.

“Christ!” You breathe, tossing Jane Eyre to the sapphire sky before surging forward. The carriage stalls on a pebble for a quick moment and it’s enough time for you to beat it by a mere step. You scoop the silly thing into your arms and as the wheel just grazes your skin— it is you now that is saved from immediate death.

A warm hand tugs at your wrist and you’re certain the brick wall has grown awfully large palms and fingers; for what you slam up against is hard and unpleasant.

You grunt, Lyla yelping in surprise where she is tucked up tightly against your chest.

Whistles and claps overtake the coward crowd and you sway upon your own boots as the wind itself makes you unsteady with its light graze. Firm palms steel you, grasping your shoulders tight to keep you together and well.

Your eyes venture on an upward path to find two crimson pupils imploring your features as if they are etched in stone and stored away in a beloved museum somewhere in Rome.

Brows pinched and quite bushy, eyes cold but curious, his reddened orbs search your face for what feels like a millennium. Fascinated.

Awed.

You blink, and the cry of the sweet creature in your arms breaks the trance you were entangled in. Lyla leaps from your arms and onto the cobble path— and you only huff and reach a weak arm toward her before the exhaustion of a skipped meal and your adrenaline fueled actions bring you to sit on the cobble ground.

He kneels beside you, the stranger. Yet you cannot find yourself mustering enough energy to truly examine his face. Just his eyes, rare things they are.

“She’ll be alright.” He whispers, hands still pleasantly upon your shoulders as if he fears you’ll topple over and shatter once he parts.

When you do lift your gaze however, stricken curious by the sickly silken sound of his voice, he’s gone.

“Thank y-”

The word croaks in your throat, and you can only wonder how it was possible… how quickly the phantom left you upon the cobble. The farm boy rushes over soon, much to the demise of poor Blaire. She stares on at the carriage and ginger man as if she wishes it was her nearly trampled.

He hands you fresh water and berries, and you wave his concern away and the crowd’s curiosity with a weak hand.

Your mind is only glued upon one thing.

The phantom.

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @cybersry

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trek-tracks · 1 year

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Do you ever think about how Kirk had a "best friend" on the ship before Bones in Gary Mitchell, a man who:

a) deviously manipulates him into heartbreak for Mitchell's benefit,

b) shames him for not being "fun" enough when he's in a position of power,

c) openly insults intelligent and powerful women,

d) treats everyone cruelly as soon as he gets power and tries to seize everything for himself,

e) finds it fascinating that he can stop a person's heart for fun, and

f) tries to murder Kirk instead of admitting that he's a danger to the universe,

and then chooses to replace him with Bones, a man who:

a) tries to save Kirk from heartbreak at every opportunity,

b) gets him to smile and relax by being genuinely interested in how he's doing and telling him that he's great and respected just as he is,

c) openly toasts intelligent and powerful women,

d) treats everyone kindly as soon as he gets power and tries to use it to help as many people as he can,

e) cries about how people suffered when medical treatments were less advanced, and

f) says, "Jim, I can't destroy life, even if it's to save my own. I can't."

because I do

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sprout-fics · 9 months

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If it weren't for Gaz, the 141 would starve, and I mean that.

They're military dudes, active service military dudes who spend a considerable time in the field. They subsist off of snacks they packed in their bags and MREs and supply drops. When they get back to base they eat at the base cafeteria or do some takeout if they feel like it. They hardly ever cook for themselves.

When they go on leave, they fend for themselves in terms of food. Price is fine. He knows exactly 5 recipes, which includes pot roast that he does exclusively for special occasions, and a shepherds pie that turns out a little different each time. He oversalts everything, to the point where Gaz gags a little about it.

Ghost is so used to MREs he literally eats very similar things when he's home alone. Man exists of protein shakes and power bars and beans and toast. He will literally microwave beans as opposed to putting them on a stove. He firmly believes anything is edible if you put HP sauce on it. Gaz is horrified when he sees Ghost put HP sauce on 2 week old leftover unseasoned chicken and shrug.

Soap, however, is a menace. He tries to cook and ends up with a smoke filled apartment instead. It's not that he can't read the recipe, t's that he's constantly taking shortcuts and ends up creating potions instead. He will purposefully seek out bad food combinations just to try it. He is the man that pours the extra cup of oil into the brownie recipe and then slathers on icing on top to make it edible. He sends pics to the group chat and Gaz begs him to not eat it.

Gaz, in my opinion, was raised by his mom and two older sisters, and they refused to let him move out unless he learned basic cooking skills. He's not the best chef by any means but he can at least cook a casserole without ruining the pan and causing a base-wide incident the way Soap does, and it will be far more edible than any of Price's cooking. He does not let Ghost in the kitchen after the last microwave bean incident

It gets to the point where if the team has to hole up somewhere for a week they will resort to begging Gaz to cook because they are out of MREs and they're sick of takeout and Soap's blood pressure will rise again if he has to endure Price's oversalted food which he continues to say he doesn't see the problem with. Gaz can make chicken and rice and the team will sit back in their chairs and declare they can't think of the last time they had such a good meal. Gaz just thanks the stars at least one of them knows how to make sure they don't starve.

#call of duty #task force 141 #call of duty modern warfare ii #modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare

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2kmps · 4 days

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DARK POOL

aquatic monster x reader | 18+ | 2.8k

story summary; your granduncle explains that the noises at the bottom of the lighthouse and the missing chunk out of his leg are from swimming rats. you let him think you're a fool.

story warnings; some graphic depictions that some may consider gory, mentions of biting, mentions of rats, creature in captivity, explicit sexual content, double penetration (not safe), prose + detail heavy, implied breeding, not proofread.

if you enjoyed it, please reblog + interact!!

Granduncle told you that the rats in Cape Tellis liked to swim and when they were in search of food, they didn't care how long they'd have to paddle through the water to find it. Some would simply drift with the current for days; black-gray fur rotted off, skin peeled off bone, little faces disfigured by sea and salt, but they would keep going until their bodies nudged the rust-red walls of the lighthouse and found the energy to scale upward to a window and squeeze inside.

He mentioned this anytime you had something to say about the ruckus down in the basement—sometimes scratching, sometimes powerful, erratic thuds that you felt pulse through the floorboards, through the rubber soles covering your feet, and into your skin. That place was sealed behind a rusted metal frame and door, deadbolted and locked with a key he always carried on a chain through a belt loop.

It always jangled when he walked because he had a limp so bad that his entire leg always dragged a pace behind him and took a great amount of effort to haul forward. When you had asked of it, as memory dictated a handful of years prior he didn't have such trouble, he first claimed it had been a bad sinus infection that got into his brain and disrupted something neurologically. In another instance where he had stopped for a third time on an evening stroll together, he had said he scuffed with one of Cape Tellis’ formidable rats and the mangy bastard had won and taken a chunk of meat out of him before scuttling back into the walls.

“Just ignore it, it's normal that they're active this time of year,” he was saying while scraping fried eggs out of a pan onto your plate. Meanwhile, you winced to the usual commotion downstairs. “They get real flighty this time of year. The rats do. They get frisky and chase each other all around. I don't know nothin' about them besides being persistent, ugly things, but it may well be their special season.”

You ripped a sharp edge in your toast and prodded the egg yolk until the sunny orb burst, oozing out across your plate before you could scoop it all up in the bread.

“How long does it take for the rats to go away?” you asked with some interest in his answer, if for no other reason to know what sort of yarn he'd spin next. The bread was buttered, the eggs unseasoned, but you ate it all anyway while watching him. “Are they permanent residents or do they come and go? You must be feeding them if they stay here.”

Granduncle took a long time to situate his bad leg under the table, longer to arrange his silverware and the direction of his food. “Oh, they have no interest in leaving, I don't think. If they really wanted to, I imagine they would've jumped back into the water and swam somewhere else.”

Each time the noises rose up between the wood slats under your feet during breakfast, granduncle told you not to worry about it, but you quieted every sound in your head to better hear rattling metal, reverberations of some sort—like having a man’s deep, anguished moan pressed right against your ribs. You weren't sure what you were looking for when you listened, only that you knew they were rats.

Granduncle looked at you, his appetite pushed away towards the center of the table with his plate. “Let's go for a walk, yes? The rain won't come back for a few hours.”

When you did walk after a meal, granduncle would often have to lie down with his dead leg propped up on a short stack of pillows for a long while. It became something of a habit of yours to exert him too much after dinner, forcing him to keep up with your youthfulness—your merry prances and unburdened soul.

For what it was worth, he did the best he could to never be a hindrance. He didn't seem to fully understand his own limitations either, making it quite a simple thing to steal the key from his belt loop while he slept—deep and silent, so much so that you needed to drop a tissue over his face from make sure he was still breathing—and unfasten the lock to descend a set of slick, stone stairs.

There wasn’t much to at the bottom; a space half-flooded from seasonal rains raising the sea-level, old pieces of ship equipment hanging like ornamentation, an old folding chair that had yet to rust despite damp air, and a large hole in the ground that was dark like the throat of a nightmare envisioned in the most precious hours of night.

You held a plate of raw meat, freshly thawed from the freezer, outstretched with a flickering lantern in your other hand. Anywhere else, you'd have just brought a flashlight—but, he didn't like the bright lights, had ripped the last one out of your hands and smashed it against the wall. Oil lanterns were better tolerated, but he still seemed to cower from the gentle flickers.

So, you placed the meat on the seat of the folding chair and walked closer to the hole, wading a hand through seawater until touching braids of cold metal, chains pulled taut as though weighted down by an anchor. You gave the closest one a tug, always with the same caution as a child gripping his mother's clothes in uncertain times, and backed away.

He never made noise when he surfaced, always frightfully quiet, only indicated by a trail of bubbles that followed after where he roamed underwater. The first thing to emerge was a dorsal fin flared proudly from the middle of his head until midway in the deepest curve of his back. His eyes were on you, abysmal black things with a luster you likened to a landbound fish, and skin and scales that moved stiffly with his facial movements.

“You,” said the creature, toneless and in a voice far too raspy and deep to have an equal match amongst human men. “You have come. You are here.”

Months ago, he hadn't been capable of simple speech such as this. The noises he made were incompatible to anything you had ever heard—perhaps mere vocalizations he utilized underwater, possibly something long gone and archaic—but he had started mimicking you when you'd speak, and eventually you started slowing down, giving him the time to feel how the sounds vibrated in his own throat.

“I brought you food, again.” You gestured towards the seat with raw meat with your lantern, prompting his passing glance of interest before he was back on you. “Not hungry? He usually doesn’t feed you that well. I haven't been down here in a week or so, so I figured you'd be ready to scarf it down.”

“No.”

He came closer and the size of him grew, a towering figure with strong, broad-shoulders and a chest built to withstand the friction of the sea he used to own. His face, although hidden in darkness and flickering shadow cast from your lantern, gleamed as the light struck his iridescent scales. The shape of his lips were human-like yet taut, helping to comfortably fit his sharp teeth inside his mouth.

You'd wondered at times what exactly he was, what your granduncle believed him to be and feared so much to hide him away, chained to a wall. You fantasized that he could be the lost prince of some underwater civilization, or the offspring of several thousands of years of evolution between humans and something else.

He never seemed to understand you when you asked him what he was.

“Come,” his reach was limited by the chains that bound his limbs, keeping him shy of touching your body. “Come to me.”

With the lantern set aside, a distance you hoped wouldn't turn him petulant, you walked in his arms and the shackles and made home there as he surrounded you. His embrace was not the sort you could escape, nor was the kiss he pressed against your mouth.

There were parts of him you were too scared to touch, where his scales were like serrated teeth and he had much less control to retract at will like the dorsal find along his back. His lips were smooth and cold, however, a safe place for you to be on his body along with the hard flesh on his chest.

He pushed himself into your touch as your fingertips traced the shape of his torso, rose with the sprawl of his breasts and shoulders, molded into the ridges of his lower abdomen that you felt pulse and tense the further downward you roamed.

The sheath around his groin had swelled significantly and seemed to twitch when you smoothed your hand across it, kneading it gently to see what would come of doing so. You'd seen this only once before several months ago, a time where you'd been more frightened of him and fled from the basement for weeks when he'd acted more aggressive than usual.

It was one of the many things he had taken notice of that were perceived negatively—with fear and distance and shutting him away in this deep dark until you found the courage to feed him again, because your uncle was petrified along with being restricted in his ability to navigate the stairs with his lame leg.

So, he had learned to behave at the worst of times to keep food supplied, for you to stay wrapped up in him like this and so curious to challenge the extent of his self-restraint.

His kiss had grown full-bodied and restless and gone elsewhere on your body to a great expanse of skin. His face nuzzled into the fabric hiding your warmth from him, teeth tearing and fraying the threads that kept your clothes together until you stopped him.

“Stop—wait, wait, wait.” You walked back out of his arms once he was able to recognize the words. He reached for you despite the clattering bonds around his wrist, but you took your time to shuck the clothes from your body and fold them.

Once he had you back, he led you to the edge of the pool of endless depths and sank down inside of it. Your toes touched the very edge of darkness, stirring a rabble of butterflies in your gut that did not dissipate even once he resurfaced.

“Sit.” He gestured right at where you stood. “Sit down.”

The idea of having any part of your body submerged in the black water left you with little desire in continuing this, but you obeyed and slowly lowered your rear to the rim of the pool, legs speckled by goose pimples as the cold water gripped up to the inside of your thighs.

“Yes, good.” He was close enough to push your thighs wide apart and stick his tongue inside of you. You took in a great sucking breath, startled from the suddenness of it and the long, articulate appendage massaging a part of you in a way no one ever had before.

You leaned back on your arms when they weakened and shook from the sensations, eyes flicking towards the drab ceiling, wondering just how far under the living quarters of the lighthouse you actually were and whether granduncle would hear any lewd sounds that were beginning to hum in your throat.

“Keep going.” He said when you moaned, tongue retracted from your body to mimic the ministrations you made with your hand and fingers while you stroked yourself. “Keep doing it.”

He nudged your hand away to put his mouth over that stimulated spot instead, sucking and licking along you with such fervor that you dissolved into hard pants and whimpers, tempted to close your thighs around his head and push him away as the tight warmth inside of you flushed out with a kaleidoscopic burst of color and cool air following the trail of something slowly oozing out of you.

It took a second orgasm and chanting turned to cries to get him off of you. That brief respite ended when he took you by the waist and dragged you into the pool with him. By that point, you were too far spent to have anything but unshakeable indifference to the depths and the cold.

His kiss was as it had been before, rough and restless, forceful in a way that left you malleable and melting against him. Even when he had your front wedged between the rim of the pool and his chest, you couldn't bring yourself to react much.

You felt his thighs mold to the back of yours before the slim tip of his cock pushed into you, the girth of it thickening considerably at the base. The friction of the water wasn't an obstacle for him to fuck into you with greedy thrusts that threw your hips forward, knocking skin and bone against the wall of the pool.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh—” the ridges of his cock were an unusual feeling, catching your walls in spots, spreading you wider when he'd withdraw part way and plunge back inside. “Oh, shit—feels good. Harder. Harder. Harder!”

There was truly never any way to know how much he understood when you said it, something called into question when his thrusts slowed to a stop, but he stayed hard inside of you. For a moment, the water settled along with your heavy breaths and blood gushing through your ears.

Things slowly came back into focus—the dancing lantern light, the room temperature meat, the wicked water in which you were immersed to the waist while the rest of you was braced by him.

He shifted behind you, adjusting his thighs so yours went even wider. Before you could ask the things you wanted to, a new sensation stole your breath—the swollen head of a second cock, different in shape and size from the first, pushed into you and lay flush atop the other.

“Don't—don’t move.” You were struggling to do the same thing with such an enormous stretch you'd never had to accommodate before. Tension built in your throat, whether a sob or a scream or your own anxiety, and stayed there to cinch your voice into silence.

He soothed you with lips and teeth all over your flesh; the back of your neck, the cartilage of your ears and the underside of your jawbone. His large hands left the shelf of your hips and felt along your front side, nipples, chest, stomach, and groin where he tried to recreate the same pleasure on you now as you had done for yourself earlier.

“Good?” He nested his cocks deeper when he heard you moan. The pain of it was beginning to subside, but the strangeness of it remained. “Is it good?”

"Just—just don't hurt me.”

His hands were back on your hips to keep you seated on his thighs while he thrust into you. It wasn't as easy for him to move as it was before, perhaps realizing the limitations of a human companion, but continued in snappy pulses that made the water lap at the skin on your back and turned your thoughts into senseless, garbled things.

Soon enough, you were riding a sloppy, savage rhythm to which you had no control of whatsoever as he chased his end. In moments where he seemed to regress into a natural state, almost animalistic in the way he rutted into you and buried his cocks, one would slip out and go forgotten for a time. The length of it glided against your groin, a smooth motion underwater that prodded your sore spots before he was able to fit it back into place with the other.

Amid your luscious sounds were those of his own; labored, air-sucking rasps that rumbled from places more than just his throat. They were probably never meant to be heard above the surface of water, just as he didn't belong fucking a human while being chained to a wall.

You thought about that fact while the last thrusts he took seated his cocks so deep that you ached, hard surges of warmth flooding your insides in a way unexpectedly delightful. He clung to you with his arms and shackles even well after he had emptied himself in your body and retracted both cocks into their sheath.

After a while, he hoisted you out of the water and followed you to retrieve your clothes. He stopped short of the chains pulling in the wall, watching while you wiped away the remnants of him oozing down the backs of your thighs and redressed.

“Don't go.” He kissed you and let his cold lips linger over yours. “Stay here.”

You returned the affection as endlessly as he gave it, only thinking that sunrise would soon come to pull you apart.

a/n: not my best work, but hopefully passable. it's really helpful when y'all reblog, so please do so!!!

I don't really have any comments on this because I'm starting over from zero on the long-fic of the aquatic monster story bc I hated what I had lmao.

anyway, please keep in mind that is a concept piece. chances are that none of this will be present in the actual long-fic. this just helps me to explore ideas and familiarize myself with characters.

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